


FFXIV2020 Submissions

by ColorPencil



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: FFxivWrite, FFxivWrite2020, Gen, Multi, Post-Patch 5.3: Reflections in Crystal, Tumblr: FFXIVwrite2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:40:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 18,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26285815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColorPencil/pseuds/ColorPencil
Summary: These are my submissions for FFXIV2020 writing prompts. There is no theme, just wherever the word prompt of the day takes me. This will probably stay non-explicit and I doubt that will change. Also, first time writing fanfic in a *long* time...Assume patch 5.3 spoilers throughout all the stories!!!!!!!!!Join the fun: https://ffxiv-write.carrd.co/
Relationships: Azem/Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch, Cid nan Garlond/Nero tol Scaeva, G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light, Gaia/Ryne | Minfilia, Igeyorhm/Lahabrea (Final Fantasy XIV)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 28





	1. Crux (Igeyorhm/Lahabrea)

**Author's Note:**

> something that torments by its puzzling nature; a perplexing difficulty.

Amaurot, to a visitor ignorant of its customs, may find the people curious with their identical, uniform black robes and white masks. But it would be a mistake to assume that the people abhorred all decorations or aesthetic designs, as the gleaming crystal spires of the city and intricate sigils of the Convocation could attest.

It would also be a mistake to assume all Amaurotines were complete bores who did not know how to perform festivities, even if their life depended on it. Amaurot, in fact, _had_ festivals, with bright, vivid adornments. Not many, but they existed. And is not a festival all the sweeter due to the time spent away, as if it were two lovers brushing fingers after eons spent apart?

One such festival was Founding Day, where the great city celebrated its first Convocation meeting and birth. This festival was one of the livelier ones, as people commemorated achievements and new possibilities. And this Founding Day was especially livelier than usual, for Azem had introduced to the city a new beverage found from across the seas named “alcohol”, just in time for this special day. For the denizens of these faraway lands, imbibing such a beverage caused them to lose their minds and memories, but for Amaurotines it only produced a light buzz while they still maintained their faculties. Perhaps, for this reason, Igeyorhm felt a bit bolder today. She took another sip of her drink, the liquid crackling as it went down her throat.

The Convocation had already said their speeches and well-wishes this morning, and they were as free as the rest of the city to celebrate as they saw fit. And _truly_ celebrate; it was a faux pas for citizens to return to work after the Convocation speeches, instead of celebrating with others, Convocation members included.

Igeyorhm currently found herself in one of the many gardens of the city, back leaning against a tree. She took another sip and glanced above the rim of her glass at her goal by the garden’s fountain.

Lahabrea. Unfortunately, conversing with Emet-Selch, and conversing for the past 14 minutes and 23 seconds. It looked like a deep conversation as well, with bowed heads, quiet murmurings, and body language turned inwards. Igeyorhm had too much esteem for them both to rush her plan, but she was getting impatient. Could this impatience be the drink’s fault? She eyed her glass warily.

The orchestra in the garden ended their current piece and basked in the attendant’s applause. “ _Next should be the dance song,”_ Igeyorhm thought to herself. And the next song was, indeed, a song to dance to, with an upbeat tempo.

“ _It’s been 15 minutes and 3 seconds and they’re still talking. But this is the song I was waiting for…”_ Igeyorhm mused quietly in her head, rapidly running simulations in her mind of possible outcomes. Igeyorhm glanced back at the drink in her hand, shrugged, and downed the rest in one gulp before walking over to the pair.

“Eminent Emet-Selch. Esteemed Speaker.” Igeyorhm nodded to the two in turn. “I hope I am not interrupting.”

“No, no, by all means, _do_ interrupt. If I must listen to any more of Lahabrea’s pegasus ramblings, I’d much rather suffer in good company.” Emet-Selch grinned toward Lahabrea with a well-meaning glint in his eye, while Lahabrea merely pursed his lips. Igeyorhm nodded towards Emet-Selch and, before Lahabrea could begin to open his mouth to start trading the usual barbs, Igeyorhm turned once more to Lahabrea with a deeper bow.

“Our most esteemed Speaker,” Igeyorhm rose back up and put her hand forward, palm up. “May I have this dance?”

Emet-Selch made a most unpleasing snort and out of the corner of her eye, saw him reduced to a coughing fit. But her focus was trained on Lahabrea, whose mouth was agape. Her pulse quickened in the silence. “ _No matter the result, I followed the protocol. I can trust in that much,”_ Igeyorhm soothed herself. 

“Igeyorhm,” Lahabrea finally breathed out. “In truth, I thought you could not stand my presence.”

Igeyorhm furrowed her brows. “If I could not stand your presence, I would not have sought you out.”

Emet-Selch up-ended his glass and poured his drink into the bushes while drawling, “Well, looks like I must needs return to the, what was it? ‘The bar’?” He waved away as he left, “Have fun, you two.”

The two did not even notice he had left, and the other presences in the garden faded away as well. Igeyorhm’s hand remained in front of her as she felt a bead of sweat travel down the small of her back, the _thud-thud_ of her heart starting to match the beat of the music. The music. In her mind’s eye, she saw the sheet music with the dance steps she studied the night before.

“The song is about to end,” she mumbled quietly, meant for her inner voice but instead came tumbling out, unbidden. _“Must be the drink.”_

Lahabrea abruptly grasped her hand, toothy grin under a toothy mask. “Then, we will just have to dance to the next one.”


	2. Sway (Emet-Selch)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to move or swing to and fro, as something fixed at one end or resting on a support.
> 
> CW: mentions of blood

Hydaelyn. The usurper of this star. Her forces raged at the gates while Zodiark’s summoners, the Convocation of Fourteen- Thirteen now, careful- poured their aether into their next great work. They were poised at the precipice of their plan, to return their sacrificed brethren back to life, and all they needed now was quiet. Concentration. By Zodiark’s will, the usurpers would be dealt with, their plan _will_ succeed, and all shall return as it once was.

_By Zodiark’s will._

Emet-Selch repeated to himself.

_This will succeed._

It was a mantra repeated, every night while he worked alone. Every day while he locked himself in the laboratory, poring over diagrams and models and tests. Every time his trembling hand siphoned slivers of aether from the land to stave off sleep just a little bit longer.

The Convocation was currently holed up in their Forum inside the Capitol building. In days long past, the halls would echo with animated discussion and debates, but Zodiark’s work required quiet and intense concentration. Any act of Creation demanded such, and Zodiark demanded the utmost _more_. Fandaniel’s warriors clashed against Hydaelyn’s followers at the entrance of the Capitol building, sufficiently far enough away to leave the Convocation’s work undisturbed. His warriors would stand as the bulwark against the ever-rising tide, Emet-Selch would direct the souls used in their Creation to their proper place, Lahabrea would guide the Convocation’s aether for the act of Creation, and so on, and so forth. Everyone in their proper place with their a suitable role to play.

_By Zordiark’s will._

“……”

_This will succeed._

“……………..!”

_All shall return as it once was._

“………………………….--!”

Emet-Selch felt a tingle. Right there, on his left cheek. “ _That I should get an itch now…_ ”, groaned the smallest voice he would permit himself during the Convocation’s great work. All Creation required complete focus. Complete dedication. One member losing themselves to an _itch,_ of all things, would cause their toil and sacrifice to be for naught. Emet-Selch would not let that happen, would not let _himself,_ after everything, be the reason.

But the itch only grew. It was slowly growing now, but its nature… no, not an itch. Emet-Selch quickly partitioned a part of his mind to deal with this oddity. A technique to salvage a botched Creation. Mistakes in Creation, for the regular citizen, would result in mostly unintended consequences. But, due to the types of Creation that Convocation members take on personally, mistakes could be disastrous. In addition, the technique was only taught to Convocation members due to its risk, and even then, only the very experienced members of the Convocation would dare try it. But this was a desperate time, and interference could not be tolerated.

Interference. Could this be some ploy by Hydaelyn’s followers? No, they would not know how to even start an act of Creation that would disturb a Convocation member. And… _they_ would not be with _them._

“……….”

There. A noise at the back of Emet-Selch’s mind that followed the itch, the tingle- whatever it was. It was almost static in nature, as if it was a lost radio signal. Emet-Selch wondered if all he had to do was tune to the right station. If they would make it that simple.

“…………………..!”

_Yes._

“…--------!”

_Just so._

“……….d……!”

That was enough for everything to happen at once. Realization. The voice, calling to him. Sunshine outside he had not felt in what must be an age.

Emet-Selch was undone. And with him, the rest of the Convocation’s great work.

*******************

Hades wondered if he was dead. He looked down on himself, one hand reaching out towards the conduit summoning him (anywhere, anywhere but here), and his other side stabbed through, aether bleeding through his robes as Lahabrea latched onto him with an ungainly, transformed clawed hand. Hades then noticed that Emet-Selch’s hand was also grasping Lahabrea’s bladed fingers, bloody red from the blade cutting deeply and knuckles white in desperation to hang on.

_No. Not dead._

Emet-Selch, now aware through the pain, could hear Lahabrea’s continuing string of expletives as he refused to let go. _Always with the fiery temper_ , mused Emet-Selch. Another realization dawned on him: if he was not dead, surely the great work was ruined now? Even if his mind had not been torn apart by two desires, surely the rest of the Convocation should be tearing into him with clawed hands and gnashing teeth, as would be their right.

He suddenly felt a great force, push him, causing him to lose his footing and hurtle toward the summoning conduit. In the space of a breath, Emet-Selch felt time slow. He realized the force was Lahabrea himself, body colliding into his person. He saw Elidibus, behind the two of them, driving them on their course to the portal using the momentum of his own body crashing into Lahabrea.

Emet-Selch understood. Lahabrea certainly did not. Elidibus, in the foreground of the brilliance of the great work and his face cast in shadow, did not need to explain his reasoning- _Zodiark’s_ reasoning. With the rest of the Convocation safe, the great work could be salvaged. With the _rot_ cut away, life may continue.

Emet-Selch closed his eyes and understood. _As is their right._

The portal closed behind Elidibus, and the three continued along the course of the summoning spell through the Rift, shepherded to their ultimate destination.

But it never came. The three realized far too late that there _was_ no exit portal. They had stopped moving on their course and left to drift in the Rift.

_Was this the intention?_

Emet-Selch tore himself away from the other two and slashed his own portal open to exit the Rift.

_Is this what -------- wanted?_

And what awaited him was a broken world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was inspired by another fanfic on this website that I read some time ago, but I cannot for the life of me remember the author or title. OTL


	3. Muster (Ryne/Gaia)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to gather, summon, rouse.

Although Gaia had lodging at the Crystarium, she found herself spending more of her time in Amh Areng and Mord Souq. She had to admit to herself that the sparse amount of people, that additionally kept to themselves, were more to her liking. This was despite her black attire being ill-suited for the desert environs. The help and assistance freely given by the Crystarium residents were appreciated, but over time she found their worry and doting over her suffocating. Unable to bear it much more, she reasoned it would be a better use of her time to conduct her research closer to The Empty. And that was how Gaia found herself lost in thought with her circumstances, staring into the blazing dry heat of the desert, with a plate of caramels from the local Mord Souq culinarian along with splayed opened books on the nature of aether. Books that were a parting gift from Urianger before his one-way trip home with the rest of Ryne’s friends.

_Home._

“Gaia…….! Oh, Gaia……!”

It slowly dawned on Gaia that someone was calling her name in a most sickly-sweet sing-song voice. Head resting in one palm, she turned her gaze to the right and found the source to be none other than Ryne, smiling and giving a small wave once realizing that she was finally noticed.

“So here you are, Gaia! I was wondering where you had gone. I was looking all over the Crystarium for you.”

Gaia leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “The simple fact is I find Mord Souq more agreeable with me, no more and no less.” She picked up the plate of caramels and offered it to Ryne. “Want some? They’re not half-bad.”

Ryne beamed with a look of delight that could put innocent pixies to shame and clapped her hands together. “Don’t mind if I do!”

She popped one into her mouth with a hum of happiness and closed her eyes, savoring the taste. Suddenly, she opened her eyes with an exclaimed “Oh!”, and with the caramel still in her mouth, began speaking at a rapid pace. “I was going to say, I was looking for you because I wanted to ask for your help with a delivery to Journey’s Head. What a nice coincidence that you were in Mord Souq all along,” Ryne ended with her eyes cast towards to ground, a small smile on her lips.

Gaia raised a brow. “You need my help with a _delivery_? Don’t you have better things to do than run errands for anyone who asks?”

Ryne glanced up at Gaia when Gaia’s tone turned sharp. Keeping a steady gaze toward Gaia, Ryne explained, “The delivery is a box of nectarines for one of the patients. Alisae’s friend. The merchant at the Crystarium sought me out since I was familiar with the recipient, and she knew how important the delivery was for the treatment.”

Gaia drummed her fingers on top of her crossed arms as she glanced towards the blazing heat out beyond the town limits, which was sure to be an ordeal compared to the relative coolness beneath her claimed shade. A look of consternation remained on her face as she turned back toward Ryne and stated, “You don’t need my help for a simple delivery. Any one of the residents here would be more than glad to help their hero of the ages.”

Ryne looked down toward the ground again, searching, and clasped her right arm with her left hand. “Well, maybe ‘help’ wasn’t the right word. I was just thinking, we haven’t seen much of each other lately, and perhaps a walk together and change of scenery might help spark some new ideas with regards to Eden and The Empty?” Ending her rambling explanation, she looked up toward Gaia, with her trademark pensive expression.

Gaia had a blank look on her face and motioned to the surroundings. “Not much difference to be seen with endless sand and cliffs.”

Ryne looked taken aback for a moment and was about to go into another long tirade when Gaia waved her arms in front of her in surrender, and poorly hiding a smirk on her face. “But fine, _fine_ , I acquiesce. Maybe a walk will do us some good.”

Ryne grinned at that. " _She always seems so pleased whenever I give in"_ , Gaia thought to herself, as she scooted her chair back to make ready for their delivery job.

“By the way,” Ryne began rummaging among her belongings and pulled out what looked like a long stick. “The Warrior of Darkness gave this to me as a gift and said it helps to combat the suns’ rays. They called it a… ‘para-sol’?” She pushed it open, which caused the paper top to fan out and create a portable means of shade. She handed it toward Gaia. “You can hold it. I’ll carry the box of nectarines.”

“Gladly.” Gaia took the parasol and made to stand next to Ryne, while Ryne picked up the box. Ryne made a small “oof” as she stood up with the box and startled once she turned and noticed the close-proximity between Gaia and herself.

Gaia rolled her eyes, a hand on her hip. “Careful, you. You’ll drop the box and bruise the nectarines, and then where will we be?”

“Oh… right. Right…” Ryne looked down toward the box, a blush and a smile hidden from Gaia’s sight.

****************

It had to have been about 20 minutes since leaving Mord Souq, with their final destination nowhere in sight.

" _The only difference in scenery are our footprints left behind in this endless sea of sand"_ , Gaia grumbled to herself.

Ryne was doing most of the talking as they walked side-by-side. Gaia reasoned that she was concentrating more on making sure they were both shaded by the “para-sol”, but in truth, Gaia could not stop thinking about the stream of goodbyes and well-wishes from the other residents of Mord Souq as they left town, and how they were all directed at Ryne. Gaia once thought that the other residents simply minded their own business, but maybe Gaia herself had driven them away somehow? Offended in some manner? On top of that, the hypocrisy of wishing the Crystarium residents would leave her alone and feeling perturbed over the apparent exclusion from the Mord Souq residents only made Gaia more and more irritated. Irritated at the world. Irritated at the sand trickling into her shoes. At herself.

“… What do you think, Gaia?” Ryne asked, her expression expectant, as it dawned on Gaia that Ryne had asked her a question.

Gaia let out a sigh, in more than intended exasperation. “About _what_?”

“Oh…” Ryne quickly looked back toward the box in her arms. “About my theories on Eden’s origins? I have thought a lot about it- I mean, I’ve been researching, a lot. I was wondering what you thought about my, uh, thoughts…” Ryne trailed off and looked askance, unsure of how to continue.

Gaia was certain she had truly, unequivocally, made an offense this time.

She sighed through her nose and paused in her step, rubbing her fingers over the bridge of her nose. “No, no, I’m sorry. I should not have snapped at you. I just…” Ryne stopped her stride as well and turned toward Gaia, a curious look on her face. Gaia stared at the parasol in her hand for a moment before she looked back to Ryne, a pained expression on her face.

“I will be blunt. Anyone at Mord Souq or the Crystarium would have dropped everything they had on hand to assist you, or walk with you, _converse_ with you, _share ideas_. If I had not snapped at you, I would have already been rude to you this whole time by not being a very good conversational partner.”

Gaia looked up towards the clear, crystal-blue sky. " _The color of her eyes"_ , a small voice echoed in the back of her mind. Gaia looked back down and straight into Ryne’s gaze.

“In all our talks, I’ve _never_ been good with conversation. So why me?”

“Why…?” Ryne repeated as she stepped back, a look of shocked confusion on her face. She listened with rapt attention as Gaia poured her heart out to her and now was at a loss for words. Finally, she looked down toward the box, and mumbled to herself, “Perhaps I should be blunt as well.”

Ryne set the box down on the ground with an exaggerated motion and suddenly lightly smacked her own cheeks, giving herself a small “Alright!” cheer. She quickly walked up to Gaia and grabbed her free hand in both her hands. “Gaia, I’ve seen too many of my friends with regrets over things left unsaid, and so I will take their memories and lessons to heart and tell you this: I asked you to spend time with me because I _like_ you. If you think yourself a poor conversational partner, the fact is the thought had not even crossed my mind. The fact is I simply enjoy our time together, the time I spend _with you_.”

Quiet descended on them then. There was not even a breeze whispering through their hair to disturb the stillness.

Gaia was left flabbergasted, wide-eyed and at a loss for words. The usually soft-spoken Ryne had increasingly raised her voice throughout her declaration, perhaps for emphasis.

Finally, all she could breathe out was, “Well. Alright then.”

Ryne breathed a sigh of relief of her own and gave Gaia’s hand a final squeeze before releasing her. Gaia continued to stare at her empty palm while Ryne turned back around to pick up the box of nectarines.

As Ryne made her way back to Gaia’s side, Gaia started with “You know…” and trailed off, unsure of how to continue. Ryne patiently waited for Gaia to continue at her own pace. Finally, Gaia turned around and leveled her gaze with Ryne, a small smile and a blush on her cheeks.

“These shoes are pretty terrible for traversing the desert. If we were to do this again. Maybe, when we return to the Crystarium, you could show me where you shop for shoes?”

Ryne grinned, her eyes glittering, as their shoulders brushed. “I’d love to.” 


	4. Clinch (M'naago)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to secure (a nail, screw, etc.) in position by beating down the protruding point.

Despite her duties at Rhalgr’s Reach and her charity work to help Ala Mhigan’s rebuild after the occupation consuming her time, M’naago kept her promise to find small moments to return to The Peering Stones and visit her family. At first, she treated these visits as scouting missions that just so happened to include teatime with her sisters, but eventually, she started to learn to take meaningful time for her family without involving work. Today was the rare case where her family could use some assistance, however, and so she was lending a helping hand to M’septha with the finishing touches of a new wagon for trade.

M’naago would be the first person to tell anyone to put a finely crafted bow in her hands before hammer and nails, but the work needed to be done as her other sisters were out hunting, and the family was short a wagon due to an unfortunate encounter with a Teleoceras protecting her young. M’naago was assigned to hammering the last planks needed to construct the walls of the wagon and clinching the points to prevent any scratches or tears, while M’septha finished the decorations on the outside of the wagon that signified their tribe. Even though M’naago faced hammering planks with trepidation, she knew that if she were assigned to the painting instead, she would probably unintentionally somehow paint a symbol that offended their neighbors.

She worked slowly to ensure all the planks were aligned. Carefully, hammered the nails so they would drive straight through and keep the whole wagon attached. No point would go unmissed and cause unintended scrapes. Due to M’naago’s pace, her sister had time to lounge on the ground as she waited for a free space to continue the painting. The wagon was situated underneath their trade canopy, providing welcome relief from the late afternoon sun. M’naago felt no rush from her sister, and in fact, was glad to see M’septha with a relaxed smile gracing her face.

Finally, their labors were complete, and they stood back to admire the new wagon. M’naago wiped the sweat from her brow, yet before either of them could say anything, M’zhet sidled up next to them to inspect the wagon as well.

“Hmm,” he hummed inquisitively, scratching an ear. “Isn’t it kind of lopsided?”

M’septha quickly stormed up to him and flicked him on the nose. “Zhet! If you didn’t help, you don’t get to criticize!”

M’naago giggled to herself while watching M’zhet hold his poor nose and M’septha continue on with her scolding, while M’zhet continued to whine and argue back. To tell the truth, M’naago _was_ about to comment that the wagon looked a bit tilted to one side and how it could prove perilous for the safe transport of goods. But no matter. Perhaps this wagon could be used for the children to play with, or storage space for the trade area, or maybe a source of continued decoration for the rest of the family to express themselves artistically.

M’naago sighed wistfully, thinking of the possibilities. She would use what she learned with this wagon for the next one. She would be sure to make another visit to her family soon so that they would not be one less wagon for long. It was not really “involving work” into her family visits, when it was work needed by her family, right? 


	5. Matter of Fact (Elidibus)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> something of a factual nature, as an actual occurrence.

It was a beautiful day in Amaurot. The morning rains had ceased, leaving the sun shining in a crisp blue sky spotted with puffs of clouds, and a sweet spring breeze rustled through the treetops. Igeyorhm and Lahabrea had encouraged him to appreciate the good weather and spend some time outside, so Elidibus orderly stacked the books he was currently studying in his office and cast a simple spell to float them behind him as he walked. He ventured through the city streets and its throngs of people, greeting them as he passed, and arrived at one of the parks nearest to the Capitol building. Elidibus glanced at his floating stack of books, more out of habit than to really check if they were still with him. Even though he followed their advice, a small part of him felt this was not what Igeyorhm and Lahabrea meant by “enjoying the day”.

Elidibus found a secluded and relatively dry spot under a flowering dogwood tree and summoned the wind to gently sweep away what dew remained on the grass. He settled into the shade and leaned his back against the smooth bark, his stack of books quietly meeting the grass beside him. He folded his hands in his lap and took a deep breath, staring through the leaves above him and into the wide expanse of sky.

“ _Even though the size of my office is overwhelming at times, the endless sky feels more liberating,”_ he thought to himself. “ _And I don’t have to think about my feet not meeting the floor while I’m sitting at my desk.”_

Elidibus shook his thoughts away and grabbed a book at the top of the stack, opened it to his bookmarked page, and was immediately absorbed in the writings. Suddenly, he felt something tickle his exposed leg and reflexively startled, his head immediately whipping up to check the disturbance.

A white rabbit sat by, twitching his nose at him.

“Oh,” Elidibus breathed out, a sigh of relief. “Hello, rabbit.” He reached a hand out for the rabbit to sniff, and sensing that the rabbit accepted his greeting, gave it a few finger-strokes on the forehead. Smiling, he moved to a cross-legged sitting position and continued reading.

Moments later, a brown rabbit flopped itself into the middle of Elidibus’ book.

“What-“, Elidibus exclaimed as he scrambled to maintain the book made heavier by the brown rabbit. Frowning, he set his book down on the grass in front of him and picked up the brown rabbit, holding it at arm’s length. He made to set the rabbit down beside him and noticed the white rabbit had moved to snuggle at his side as well. Elidibus sighed and gently set the brown rabbit next to the white and, in an exasperated voice, explained, “I apologize, rabbits, but I haven’t any food. You may stay, but please do not interrupt me further.”

He turned back to his open book and found three rabbits- black, spotted brown, and silver- sitting on its pages, looking up at him inquisitively. Before Elidibus could even react, they suddenly jumped into his lap.

There was a veritable flood of rabbits now, coming in every direction that Elidibus could fathom, and all jumping on his person. He could feel their tickly noses on his skin and the warmth of their bodies as they crawled over and lay upon him. Not wanting to act rashly and accidentally injure one of them, he decided to surrender and succumb to the mountain of fuzzy rabbits atop him until they calmed down and he could gently pick them off one-by-one. “ _I must have sat on their home,_ ” Elidibus nodded to himself, closing his eyes. “ _I should have paid more attention._ ”

********************

“Halmarut, enough, enough! You’ll suffocate the poor lad!”

“Good! If that’s what it takes to make him put down his books!”

Mitron, bent over laughing and unable to continue voicing his protestations, continued to half-heartedly wave at Halmarut to stop them from creating more rabbits to swarm over Elidibus. His other hand was steadily holding the recording crystal, pointed towards Elidibus’ predicament. The two of them were out in the open grass yet had no reason to hide behind anything, as they were camouflaged from view with a spell of Halmarut’s own making. They were in Halmarut’s domain, after all.

A wicked smile on Halmarut’s face, they turned and glanced at Mitron’s wheezing form. “You had better be keeping the recording crystal steady. No one will ever believe this otherwise.” Mitron, still unable to speak, nodded his head instead while wiping the tears from his eyes.

They turned back to the scene in front of them, and the pair gasped once they saw Elidibus, his head popping out of the mound, with a perfectly framed pair of white rabbit ears behind his head.


	6. Squib (Alisaie & Alphinaud)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a short and witty or sarcastic saying or writing.

Alisaie rolled her eyes so hard, she swore she almost saw stars.

“Oh brother,” she began with an exasperated sigh and hands on her hips, “if I received a gil for every smart thing you said, I’d be destitute.”

Alphinaud glanced back at her with a small smile. “Well, _dear_ sister, at least you can always rely on our family’s finances to help you.”

A beat passed. Alisaie’s mouth hung slightly open and one of her brows furrowed, while Alphinaud’s small smile lay placid on his lips. Content with his comeback, he turned back round to attend to their business. Alisaie, instead, decided to pull his hair ribbon undone and march ahead out of his reach and protestations.


	7. Nonagenarian (Fordola)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> of the age of 90 years, or between 90 and 100 years old.

Fordola collapsed backward, letting her head hit the ground and arms splay wide to her sides. She grunted at the pain but let it spread, focusing on the prickles that eventually melted to a dull throb. She had finished her abdominal crunches to exhaustion, another part of her fitness regimen chosen at random to pass the time until her next summons to slay the next godsforsaken primal. 

She slowly shifted her feet and extended her knees one by one, allowing her legs to rest on the cool ground. She felt her sweat trickle down from her body and make her clothing stick her back to the floor. Fordola was alone, for the moment. Arenvald may come by later for whatever inane reasons he had for doing so. She knew there must be certain times of the day he was free to bother her, but there were no windows in her cell to tell the passage of time, so his arrivals always seemed as random as his reasons.

Fordola’s fingers went up to her neck to play with the choker strapped snugly round. A habit she had picked up that she was half-heartedly trying to break. At least she made sure to only do it in private, away from prying eyes who would read too much into the gesture.

_“A habit?”_ , Fordola thought to herself. _“Nervous twitch, more like. How my walls break down in the moments between my occupied time.”_

Fordola could not help but think back to the last primal battle with the other Ul’dahn summoners. Ifrit, yet again. One of the older Brass Blade guards traveling with them in their caravan was talking about how he was just days away from retirement. How his family had just celebrated his great-grandson’s third birthday. How he had a seventh great-grandchild on the way. Oh, the look of pride on his face. The love in his heart that Fordola was forced to witness. Scenes of joy with his large, large family. Pride for his success and legacy written on his very soul.

In the small, quiet moments between, Fordola wondered how she would look at that age. How would she look even beyond that, if she even lived that long? Was there any kind of legacy Fordola would be leaving behind, locked away from the world as she was, and only grudgingly permitted out of her cell as an anonymous savior?

Legacies… Fordola thought of pride. She closed her eyes, and her mind instantly was drawn to the memory before she had the time to even ask: when was the last time she felt pride?

_Kneeling on bent knee sinking into the plush carpet. Voice booming overhead, so encompassing, yet so distant. A hand beckoning her to stand and gaze into the Black Wolf’s unmoving helm as he welcomed their new Imperial regiment: the Crania Lupi. Standing shoulder to shoulder with her fellow compatriots, and her practiced Imperial salute executed flawlessly._

Fordola let out a guttural groan and wiped the memory away, the hand around her neck balling into a fist and smashing back against the ground. Her eyes opened back up to stare at the same ceiling that had been overhead for days upon days, weeks, months, soon to be years. The butcher’s knife overhead. The strangling grasp reaching ever closer for her neck.

This must be where she would spend the rest of her days. Some legacy.


	8. Clamor (Convocation)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a vehement expression of desire or dissatisfaction.

“I don’t _care_ if it breaks the rules!”, Emet-Selch threw up his hands, rising from his seat. “If I have to listen to Lahabrea’s rendition of _My Fair Bullpup_ one more time, _I’ll walk!_ ”

Altima crossed one leg over the other, as well as her arms, scoffing. “ _Enough_ with the dramatics. As if you would everupend Azem’s turn with the team-building activity, anyway.”

Elidibus looked up from the Convocation-carved lots in his hands towards Altima and asked, “Do you mean that this activity occurs rarely?”

“Not necessarily. But there are Fourteen of us, so it can take time for a turn to come again. So, _spoiling_ it,” Altima pointedly stared at Emet-Selch, “should not be tolerated.”

Emet-Selch made a shrugging motion in response and huffed, looking away.

Elidibus nodded along with Altima until he felt someone patting his shoulder. He turned to see Azem, who gave an encouraging nod and motioned toward the other lots cast on the ground. The score was almost evenly tied between Loghrif and Lahabrea, with Lahabrea in the lead by one lot. It fell to Elidibus to either end the voting in a draw (which would result in a duet) or to vote for Lahabrea to take the stage once again. Both men sat attentively in their seats, silently, not wanting to unfairly sway the vote one way or another.

Elidibus had never played a game like this before and honestly, was surprised the Convocation would permit this dalliance. But he weighed his decision as a Convocation member should and, finally, cast his lot to the pile.

Emet-Selch’s consternation could be heard for malms around.


	9. Lush (Azem)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (of vegetation, plants, grasses, etc.) luxuriant; succulent; tender and juicy.

Azem sat back onto the dirt patch from their kneeling position, wiping the sweat from their brow with the back of their hand, and looked at the aetheryte glittering amidst the rays of the sunset as it lay in its constituent pieces on the ground. The carving of crystal was nearing its completion. Next, Azem had to set the golden inlays and circuitry, assemble the components in proper order, perfectly inscribe the sigils for safe teleportation, and conduct an adequate number of test runs to declare the construction of this region’s central aetheryte complete and open to the general public. After that, Azem had to make sure the local tribespeople of the central aetheryte knew how to attune and could teach and spread the knowledge throughout this frontier. And perhaps at the end of it all, the townspeople would allow Azem to help them decorate it with their tribe’s adornments. Azem always like that part.

Aetheryte construction and maintenance may not have been as glamorous as the other Seats’ jurisdictions, such as phantamology, or ichthyology, but it was still a necessary and vital service. Azem’s role in the Convocation made theirs the perfect Seat to oversee this facet of societal function.

“ _That’s right”,_ Azem cocked their head and tapped a finger on their chin. “ _I also need to remember to do documentation at some point.”_ Azem winced as they remembered the last time they forgot and attempted the old tried and true “it’s all working fine, just trust me” verbal report with Lahabrea.

He was most displeased.

Azem was lost in their thoughts until they finally noticed some tribespeople inching closer into the clearing. Azem had decided to construct the aetheryte in this spot, as it was the most accessible and encircled by the dense tropical jungle, the moss-people’s home. Azem was not sure if they were actually moss-clothed or moss-bodied but, as far as Azem could figure, they made their homes in the trees and only used rudimentary constructions of leaves and branches for protection from the wind and rain. They were a slow and cautious people, and Azem had to spend a good amount of time convincing the group that they came in peace and to try and provide a service.

Azem could understand their trepidation. They were used to outsiders being far below their homes, whereas Azem suddenly appeared through the mists at eye-level with them in the treetops. They could feel the moss-people’s unease as the group of them halted their approach, looking between Azem sitting still on the ground and the strange contraption in front of them. Azem gave a small wave of the hand and exuded feelings of warmth and welcoming to encourage them closer.

It worked, and the people covered in varying shades of green and blue moss began creeping again towards Azem. The crowd parted, and moss-people carrying large leaf-satchels stepped forward. They emptied their satchels on the ground nearest to Azem, and quickly began creating a stack of bright and plump fruits of all sizes and all colors of the rainbow. They were spotless and promised incredible sweetness. The moss-people with leaf-satchels hurried behind the stack to join back with the crowd, and then in unison, they all bent lower to the ground.

“ _Ah,_ ” Azem thought to themselves, a pained smile beginning to stretch across their face. This supplication was not surprising to find when interacting with new cultures in frontier lands, but it remained unwelcome. Azem sent them images of the moss-people sharing and eating the succulent fruit themselves in a celebration, and feelings of happiness and satisfaction. The moss-people understood quickly and began the distribute the fruit amongst themselves, acting slightly livelier than Azem had observed of them previously.

Azem sighed through their nose as they turned to look back at the aetheryte pieces, frowning slightly. Use of the Ancient gifts was not how Azem wanted to discourage worship of them, but had found initial interaction with new cultures in the face of the Ancients power to require a delicate touch. Some of the other Convocation members would scoff at Azem’s trepidation, and have, but it was a conundrum that Azem was dedicated to treating with the utmost care.

Azem looked back down and saw the Moss-people had lit some torches and formed a circle around the fruit, and were doing what seemed to be a dance as they bobbed up and down, creating a smooth wave around their circle, over and over again. Azem could not help but smile at that, and carefully reclined down to the ground, putting their hands behind their head, and crossing one leg to rest their ankle on their knee.

They looked up at the stars beginning to glimmer from out of the dusk sky. Immediately, Azem started to identify the constellations and star clusters, as if looking upon their own garden and accounting for each and every flowering sprout.

_“There’s that one… and that one… and-… wait a moment,”_ Azem lifted their head abruptly, _“that constellation can't be in that part of the sky, because…”_

Azem’s eyes widened as they suddenly sat up straight, startling the moss-people from their dance. Azem quickly sent them feelings of warmth to calm them, but focused their attention on digging deep through their overflowing satchel to bring out their weathered, nearly-falling apart journal. The others would tease Azem for keeping an archaic form of records, but Azem found the act of writing to help with memory.

Usually, anyway.

Azem flipped through the journal to the calendar pages and realized they had long forgotten to mark the passage of time since the beginning of the moss-people’s aetheryte construction. Azem tried to recall the number of days that must have passed, and found that they matched with the date signified by the star positions in the heavens. A day with the square outlined and marked with blood-red ink,

**MEETING**

“Oh, shite!” Azem exclaimed, again sparing some motes of warmth for the even more startled Moss-people, and quickly clambered back up to standing at full height. Their face was panic-stricken as they called forth the teleportation spell back to Amaurot.

******************

Azem strode past the throngs of people out on the streets of Amaurot, everyone enjoying the end of the workday by meeting friends or returning home. They hastily nodded greetings to anyone who said hello, while their robe fluttered behind them due to the quickness of their walking speed. Azem did not want to test their luck and draw the attention of the Community Officers by running or teleporting directly to the Capitol building. Not since the last time.

They repeated their inner mantra of an endless chain of “ _oh shite_ ” as they quickly passed through the Capitol building’s open doors and down the empty hallway toward the Forum, their footsteps creating a sharp staccato against the marble floor. Up ahead, Azem saw Hades speaking with someone at the doorway to the Forum. His animated mannerisms meant that he was stalling for time, and so the other person with their back turned must be Lahabrea. Lahabrea’s arrival at the Forum always indicated the beginning of the meeting.

Azem gulped and urged their feet and legs to go quicker, get longer, move faster!

After what seemed like eons, Azem finally arrived at the other two, sweat beading down their face below their mask. They heaved an out-of-breath, “Hello!”

“Azem,” Lahabrea glanced toward them and did a double-take. “Are you quite alright? You seem out of sorts.”

Despite the countless number of times Azem had been nearly late to a meeting, Hades stalling, and Azem showing up discombobulated, Lahabrea has never seemed to realize the true nature of the situation. Azem was still not sure if he could be this oblivious, or if he were actually playing along, for some reason that was beyond them. Azem simply nodded their head a few times and motioned for Lahabrea to enter.

Lahabrea nodded curtly. “Very well,” and went on ahead, with Emet-Selch following behind him and silently mouthing toward Azem “you owe me!” Azem rolled their eyes and entered behind the other two, beelining straight for their seat in the circle of chairs.

Azem’s mind drifted as Lahabrea opened the meeting and went through the usual formalities. They smoothed their robes over their legs as their mind drifted, stomach sinking when they realized they had left their satchel with the moss-people. Azem quickly went through what items they could remember in their bag and whether any could be dangerous if discovered and handled improperly, when suddenly they heard their name announced.

“Present!”, Azem reflexively blurted out, completely lost as to why their name was mentioned.

“… Right,” Lahabrea slowly enunciated after a moment. He motioned his hand toward Azem. “The floor is yours. You may begin your chosen team-building activity.”

“… Eh?”

Oh.

_Shite._


	10. Avail (Krile, G'raha, Tataru)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to be of use; have force or efficacy; serve; help.

“Tataru,” G’raha groaned as he pushed his empty plate away, head bowing down to rest on the dining table. “I am afraid I cannot eat another bite. I apologize…”

“Hmm…” mused Tataru as she licked red sauce off a spoon. “Do you think it could use more sweet chili?”

“Perhaps just a dollop more… ugh…”, Krile gurgled as she reclined and slouched in her stool. She glanced toward G’raha and muttered, “Gods, Raha, you look to be almost bursting at the seams.”

“Urgh… you’re one to talk… Krile,” G’raha moaned and folded his arms under his head, ears turned downward, and angling his head to stare a single red eye at Tataru. “Honestly, you could have already fed the whole of Mor Dhona with these testing dishes. It all tasted wonderful.”

“No, no, no!” Tataru exclaimed while jotting down some notes on a pad of paper. “This party has to be absolutely perfect. No plate misplaced!”

Tataru kept muttering to herself figures and calculations when she finally looked up, rapidly looking between the two surrendering figures before her.

“Oh!”, Tataru adjusted her chef’s hat to keep it from falling. “You two can’t take any more? But you were both such a big help for my party planning…” Tataru clasped her hand behind her back and kicked a leg, pouting. “But that’s okay. I guess I’ll have to find some other people to test the drink menu.”

“Wait,” Krile perked up at that. “I think I have a bit left in me to help, actually.”

G’raha whined and crawled under the table.


	11. Ultracrepidarian (Hien, Cirina)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> noting or pertaining to a person who criticizes, judges, or gives advice outside the area of his or her expertise.

It was a brilliant night on the Azim Steppe, with the boundless blanket of stars twinkling in the obsidian sky over the pale desert dunes. The Dotharl made their camps around an oasis closest to the grassy plains of the Steppe, and their grounds were dotted with their banners fluttering in the breeze, smoky campfires, and people milling about their tents. The party had just finished beseeching Sadu Dotharl to undo the magic barrier and open the passage to Yanxia. Most of the group were resupplying with the Dotharl hunters, but Cirina and Hien were hanging back and refilling their waterskins. Hien had noticed that Cirina kept making unsubtle glances in his direction and was content to let her work up the courage herself, but after a prolonged amount of time had passed filled with glancing and nothing else, Hien decided to end the silence.

“Cirina,” Hien capped off the last of the waterskins as he squatted by the oasis waters and steadied his gaze toward her. “Is there something you need?”

Cirina startled and started to dart her eyes around everywhere but Hien. “Umm,” she hummed, a blush spreading on her cheeks. “Well… This is not exactly my area of expertise, but I couldn’t help noticing the way that Sadu kept looking at you. If you want, maybe I could help introduce the two of you?”

Hien chuckled, “And I couldn’t help but notice the way _you_ kept looking at Sadu. No need to hide behind me, Cirina, I’ll gladly help you break the ice.”

Hien’s laughter deepened as Cirina sputtered and stammered, shaking her hands in front of herself in denial, and her blush turning crimson.


	12. Tooth and Nail (Azem, Lahabrea)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> with all one's resources or energy; fiercely.

Azem scratched their chin as they squinted up at the unmoving living armor standing guard outside Lahabrea’s office. “ _I’ll never understand why he named them ‘_ Evil _Armor,’_ they mused silently. Azem had been summoned to Lahabrea’s office under vague circumstances, and since they had already been censured due to ‘The Ifrita Indicdent’, Azem was not quite sure what the summons could be about.

“ _Unless he wants to give me some sort of personal censure? Can he even do that?”_ Azem futilely racked their mind and tried to go through all the Convocation laws and rules that they could remember. It was not very much. “ _Hasn’t he made his point already? How much more ‘disappointment’ could he possibly impart, even being the windbag that he is… Although, it was_ his _concept that I took from the Bureau, so- “_

“Ahem.”

Azem flinched, quickly turning around to the source of the interruption. Lahabrea stood just outside his office door.

“Azem,” Lahabrea gave a small nod and glanced toward the suit. “You seemed quite focused on the Armor. Did something pique your interest?”

If it were anyone else, Azem would have immediately voiced their burning question concerning the name. Instead, Azem restrained themselves, folding their arms.

“Lahabrea! No, I was just, uh, admiring your work,” Azem glanced back at the Armor. “Looking very… solid today. Yes.”

Azem turned back around to Lahabrea and saw his mouth twitch with a frown. “Very well then,” Lahabrea folded his hands behind his back and continued to speak. “You are familiar with the southeastern frontiers?”

“Of course,” Azem leaned in at the mention, now in rapt attention. They beckoned Lahabrea to continue.

“There are rumors circulating the area of a new creature terrorizing the populace’s livestock and farmsteads. Attacking in the dead of night. Leaving nothing but trails of acid in its wake. Details are otherwise scarce, since the rumors claim it to be an invisible stalker, but one account mentions it to flit in and out of existence freely, as rapidly as a hummingbird’s wings. I intend to capture it for study and,” Lahabrea stood up a little straighter, “I would ask for your assistance.”

A beat of silence passed.

“Wh- Me?” Azem pointed at themselves, face stricken in astonishment. “Wait, _you?_ Venture out into the frontiers?”

Lahabrea’s eyebrows furrowed underneath his mask. “Is there a reason I should not?”

“No, I mean…” Azem placed their hands on their hips and glanced around at anywhere in the hall besides Lahabrea, unsure what else to do. A moment of clarity then passed their mind and they closed their eyes.

“ _Of course. This must be how he plans to get rid of me. Isolate me in a secluded location and do away with his constant annoyance once and for all.”_

“If you are concerned about the other members of my office that would usually handle such a task,” Lahabrea continued, his head just slightly tilted to the side, “they are engaged in other matters at the moment that requires their attention. And I would like to handle this personally.”

A toothy smirk crept up beneath his own masks’ tooth. “I assumed you would be jumping at this chance. To slay this menace and save the people. And their cows.”

A flash of anger surged through Azem. “Esteemed Lahabrea,” they worded carefully, arms slowly lowering back to their sides. “Pray do not patronize me.”

Azem suffered much under the Convocations constant laws and regulations, but the fact that some members turned their penchant for heroics into a point of ridicule irked them to no end.

Lahabrea only chuckled at the small outburst. “Forgive me, Azem. So, do I have your assistance in this matter?” He opened his arms and hands in a welcoming manner.

“Of course. Allow me to collect my supplies,” Azem curtly responded and turned on their heels back to their office, head held high, robes fluttering behind them. They would require a bit of respite away from Lahabrea to steel themselves for the trial ahead.

********************

The duo made it to the frontier town with little fanfare. Azem handled contact as they had the most experience with the people living there, and more than one Amaurotine interacting with mortals could cause trouble, at times. Once done collecting witness accounts and rumors, it was a simple matter of discerning truth from exaggeration and tracking the beast to its lair, hidden deep in misty, damp swampland walled in with severe cliffs of stone. The opening of the den was hidden in a cleft in the cliffside, behind scattered rubble, and it took no effort for the two to clear the way.

“Before we continue,” Lahabrea turned to Azem as they peered into the mouth of the cleft, “I would like to remind you that I would like this beast _captured._ Restrain yourself as necessary, please _.”_

Azem sniffed at the insinuation of recklessness. “As you wish.”

Lahabrea sent a ball of light into the cleft ahead of them as they squeezed through, one by one and shoulder to shoulder.

The tunnel widened and narrowed, and twisted and turned, split apart, and came together again, but it was simple enough to follow the tracks of the beast by the gashes and scratches on the walls that marked its passing. As they crept closer to the center of the lair, the beast’s green discharge became more and more common, the green viscous liquid dripping from the walls and creating steaming puddles on the floor that the two had to maneuver around in the tight spaces. Azem let out an amused “eww,” when they noticed some had gotten on the hems of their robes but was quickly hushed by Lahabrea. At this point Azem’s robe, the hems damp and heavy, caught onto one of the stalagmites lining the walls, causing Azem to lose their footing, flail, and crash into Lahabrea ahead of them, making them both fall into a puddle of slime.

“Really, Azem? Get off me,” Lahabrea groaned as he pushed Azem off his back, the other letting out a welp in pain from the rough handling. They rolled to the side, and the two slowly started to extricate themselves from the sticky substance. Azem was the first to separate themselves and paused for a moment to marvel at the usually well-kept, “Esteemed” Lahabrea mumbling and grumbling as he fought his way out of the puddle.

Azem sheepishly smiled and knelt, reflexively offering a hand. “Sorry about that.”

Lahabrea grunted and accepted, a bit to Azem’s surprise.

“We should be close, with this much discharge about,” Lahabrea muttered, motioning a spell to wipe away any remaining slime on their robes. “Do try to have a bit more care.”

Azem only nodded in response as they patted their dry robes.

**********************

The two finally approached the end of the tunnel as it opened to a wide cavern. They bent low under the narrow mouth of the tunnel and peered out to survey their surroundings. The sticky slime covered the walls and ceiling, slowly dripping down into puddles of lakes to cover the floor.

“Looks like egg sacs, covering the far wall there,” Azem pointed as they whispered over Lahabrea’s shoulder.

“Hmm,” Lahabrea mused, gliding his ball of light ever higher in the cave. “Where do you suppose the beast is hiding?”

“Wait, Laha-!” Azem was cut off as the light glinted against one of the beast eyes, and then many eyes as they all opened to stare down. The beast jumped down to the floor onto its bladed spider-like appendages and opened its mouth wide, slime continuously dribbling down its jaws and fangs as it let out a screech that shook the cavern walls. Azem glanced at Lahabrea, waiting for him to take the lead, and only barely registering that the man was grinning. Only too late to realize that he must have led the beast out with his light on purpose.

“Azem, distract it while I set up the wards!” Lahabrea shouted as he leaped away, running towards the far side of the cavern.

Azem quickly recovered themselves from the shock and started to run towards the beast, provoking it away from Lahabrea with fire and lightning. The beast turned onto Azem then, but to their surprise began to disappear and reappear in rapid succession in order to dodge the balls of magic and rapidly advance towards Azem.

“ _This is no stealth spell… Is it truly using such short-term means of teleportation?”_ Azem thought to themselves, rapidly trying to predict the beasts’ movements as the two darted from one wall to the next, a dance of dodging balls of magic and spews of acid. Azem reasoned that all they had to do was keep it distracted, at least, not kill. Surely a Convocation member could keep one step ahead of a beast, but as its teleportation increased in speed and erraticism, Azem wished that Lahabrea would hurry with the wards. Azem suddenly received a thought, an image of one nondescript location in the cavern, and the imploring need to _bring the beast here._ Azem knew exactly where it was with perfect clarity as if they had marked it themselves. With a few more magic blasts and jumps around the room, Azem corralled the beast to the spot, where Lahabrea’s containment wards immediately snapped up around it and freezing it in stasis.

“Phew!” Azem bent over with their hands on their knees as they caught their breath. They quickly looked up, beaming towards Lahabrea. “Nice work!”

“Mmm,” Lahabrea grunted noncommittedly as they stared up at the frozen beast, hand on chin in contemplation.

“ _Probably thinking about his research…”_ Azem mused to themselves as they glanced back to the far wall with the eggs, some burst open in the scuffle, yet some still remarkably intact. _“Maybe he’d be interested in the eggs, as well?”_ Azem went over to the wall of eggs and knelt to collect them, when suddenly-

“Azem, _wait-!”_

**********************

Azem groaned as they blinked their eyes open to the familiar and comforting starry sky, their head foggy and mouth feeling dry, ear filed with the symphony of croaking frogs. They felt pain spread through their throbbing head, the cool grass beneath their fingers, then finally recognized the presence of another kneeling beside them.

“Good,” the voice boomed next to Azem and they winced. The voice noticed and quieted. “My restoration magics are not much, but I did what I could. We should get you back to Amaurot with all haste.”

“What… Lahabrea?” The memories of the past few hours slowly reassembled in Azem’s mind. “What… happened? My head…”

“I overestimated the beasts’ abilities.” Lahabrea moved to fold his arms and place a hand on his chin. “It was able to create a decoy with such aetheric resonance as to trick us into being the real thing. I presume it was something to do with its rapid teleportation powers. We had trapped this decoy, and the real beast lay in wait and attacked you.”

“Oh,” Azem slowly massaged their temples to try and ease the ache. “Well, at least you have the real thing now and you can understand it better.”

Azem suddenly registered the smell of smoke.

“What is-“, they quickly sat up, head reeling at the sudden position change. Lahabrea clicked his tongue and helped to steady them.

“Careful, fool, you’re still not well-“

“Is that _fire?_ Coming out of the cave? What…” Azem cradled their head and stared from the cave, with licks of flame and smoke seeping out of the cleft, to Lahabrea, the question dying on their lips from the shock of the sight.

Lahabrea merely shrugged his shoulders. “I got carried away.”

“You mean, the _whole cave_ is...? But what about the beast? About the _research-_ “

Lahabrea angled his head back and heaved a large sigh, then leaned in to bow his head and place both hands on Azem’s shoulders. He then leveled his gaze with Azem, looking them straight in the eye.

“Listen well. You are a Convocation member and a dear comrade. I was not about to risk your life for that beast. We are joined by our mutual mission to safeguard this star. No matter what animosity you believe exists between us, I ask you to believe in this.”

Azem could only stare with wide eyes at Lahabrea and his unusual outpouring of sentimentality. A surge of pride and warmth swelled within them at his words.

And yet, Azem could not help but recall that very small barb exchanged outside Lahabrea’s office, a familiar quiet thorn that threatened to strangle the bouquet. With an experienced hand, Azem swiftly locked this thorn away among the multitude collected over the ages, fiercely bored and whittled down so that no one, _not one_ of her respected Convocation peers, would ever sense that thorn and ever suspect a thing.

“Thank you,” was all Azem could say.

Lahabrea grinned his toothy grin and patted their shoulders, then helped them to stand.

“And off the record,” said as he dusted off Azem’s robes, “You could have just asked. Volcanic aether would have been an interesting field test.”


	13. Lapidify (Lyna)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to turn into stone.

Lyna nestled her head down at the feet of the Crystal Exarch statue, his latest letter in her hand softly falling to her side. The crystal provided cold comfort for sleep, and she had long since passed the need to have another by her side to help drift into dreams. But it was some sort of sentimentality that drew her here whenever the Warrior of Darkness visited with a new letter. It just felt right to read them in his final resting place on the First, her one lone buoy amidst the expansive sea of azure crystal.

Lyna closed her eyes. Perhaps the Dreamer would grace her with fond, fleeting memories tonight.


	14. Part (Hythlodaeus, Azem)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a portion or division of a whole that is separate or distinct; piece, fragment, fraction, or section; constituent.

“Hythlodaeus, can I tell you something?”

His hand paused mid-movement, hovering over his selected chess piece. His eyes, uncovered from his citizens' white mask, glanced up across the game board. They only used his full name for serious matters. Or in irritation.

“Of course, my friend.”

“I’m thinking of retiring from the Fourteenth seat.”

They sat there, fingers intertwined and held in front of their mouth, their mask-less eyes transfixed down toward the game of chess before them. Both of their masks were set on the table, beside the game board, just in case. But Hythlodaeus’ rooms were one of the very few places in Amaurot where the two could truly relax. 

“Okay.”

He looked back down at the board, and his hand continuing its movement of his chess piece.

“That’s it?” His friend’s tone betrayed a hint of accusation as they remained still as a statue, only their eyes darting up to meet Hythlodaeus’ faintly smiling gaze.

“I assume you have your reasons, and I trust in your competency to arrive at such a decision.” His smile grew into an ever-familiar coyness as he tilted his head slightly. “Unless you brought up the matter because you would like to discuss it?”

His friend sighed long through their nose. “You can see my soul, Hythlo. I don’t need to _discuss_ it.” They finally set their arms down, one hand running their fingers through their hair, looking askance. “One reason why I like you,” they muttered.

Hythlodaeus could indeed see the coils of dissatisfaction twine around their friend’s soul, pulsing like a heartbeat. But he had enough tact not to prod at it this time.

Hythlodaeus began to speak, but surprisingly his friend continued, as they gazed out the window.

“I tire of the debates,” they spoke quietly, barely loud enough for Hythlodaeus to hear. “My suspicion of tolerance, but not respect. Perhaps a new Azem would be more able to sway their opinion.”

Hythlodaeus let silence pass between them, letting their words carry the weight they deserved. Their friend looked back down at the chessboard and half-heartedly moved their piece. Finally, he spoke up.

“And would you be willing to rely on your successor to find this new path forward?”

His friend stared fixedly at the board until finally looking up unwaveringly into Hythlodaeus’ gaze, their eyes pained, eyebrows turned pleading. “Not yet.”

Hythlodaeus, with his eyes bright, smiled earnestly in an effort to lift his friends’ spirits.

“My friend, no matter what you decide, know that I will always support you. Always.”


	15. Ache (Ysayle)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to feel eager; yearn; long.

Ysayle knew about gaelikittens. Mostly from the ecological texts that the other followers of Lady Iceheart managed to scrounge up, but she also knew they managed to make their way into Coerthas from the Sea of Clouds, from time to time. Ysayle had never seen one for herself, however. But on one blustery morning with snow buffeting around her and the abandoned farmhouse her group sheltered in, Ysayle swore she saw one of these flying kittens out in the frozen wastes, curiously garbed in what looked like a winter coat.

Ysayle immediately felt drawn to go out and rescue the poor thing but stopped herself. She had her image among her followers to maintain, and besides, she had never heard of gaelikittens in coats. Maybe it was someone’s pet that they had dressed up? But perhaps it was a trick of the light, amidst the flurries of snow and gale, and how could Ysayle just go out into the storm on a flight of fancy? Her heart ached at the thought if it was true, and the poor creature was out battling the storm alone.

Ysayle prayed for their safety. And to one day see a gaelikitten, with or without a winter’s coat, for herself.


	16. Lucubration (Azem/Emet-Selch)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> laborious work, study, thought, etc., especially at night.

Emet-Selch looked up from his crystalline-lattice designs. He realized suddenly that it had gone quiet inside his office. Never a good sign while Azem was around.

He quickly looked over his dimly lit desk to find Azem, as usual, deeply asleep amid their haphazard crystal recorders and half-formed reports. Whenever Azem procrastinated and let their documentation pile up, which was never a rarity, they always chose Emet-Selch’s offices and spotless desk as their battlegrounds as he “gave off a studious aura” to supposedly help them concentrate on the important work of cramming.

So it was in their Akademia days. So it has continued in their Convocation days. Some things never change, but Emet-Selch noted, he wished they would find some way to stop drooling so much when they inevitably passed out. Especially on _his_ desk.

He sighed and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. He noted Azem’s mask was coming askance as their head slept on an arm, and quickly fixed it for them. He readjusted their hood as it was slightly falling off, as well. Emet-Selch knew from countless experiences with this situation that Azem was quite a deep sleeper and would not be easily awoken.

_"Probably not even if they slipped off the desk and chair. How can they even sleep in such an uncomfortable position…?”_

Emet-Selch glanced at the clock hanging in his office. It was well past the time any decent Amaurotine should be soundly asleep in their bed. Emet-Selch heaved a great sigh and began organizing Azem’s things to bring to their room.

*******************

Emet-Selch turned the corner towards the exit of the Capitol building and almost ran into someone much shorter than him and garbed in white.

“Oh, Emet-Selch! I didn’t expect-“ Elidibus cut himself off once he saw what Emet-Selch was carrying, and the eyes beneath his mask grew wide.

“Is something wrong with Azem?!”

“No, Elidibus,” Emet-Selch voiced an even heavier sigh, “I am simply returning them to their rooms after a late night.”

“Oh,” Elidibus nodded to himself. He began speaking slowly and uncertainly, “That looks a little uncomfortable. Don’t you think their neck is a bit… unsupported?”

“Perhaps waking with a stiff neck will teach them to sleep in their proper bed next time.” Emet-Selch tried to subtly shift his arms to better support Azem.

“Right, right…” Elidibus mused, cradling his chin. “Oh!” he suddenly exclaimed, his fist pounding into an open palm as if coming up with a genius idea. “Why do you not simply levitate Azem as you bring them back to their rooms, instead of physically carrying them in your arms? I do that with my tomes all the time and it would surely be easier.”

Silence. Someone deep in the Capitol building sneezed.

Emet-Selch quickly side-stepped around Elidibus and left him with a curt, “Have a good night.”


	17. Fade (Y'shtola)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to become dim, as light, or lose brightness of illumination.

It had been a few days since night returned to the Rak’tika Greatwood, but the people of Slitherbough still congregated together in their village to watch the dusk sky fade away into the night. Y’shtola stood outside to watch with them as well, out of comfort for the company rather than to gaze at unseen stars twinkling into existence. Nevertheless, the soft radiance of the night was a welcome change to the searing light aether that permeated all their days before their Warrior of Darkness and friends arrived and slew the Lightwarden. Y’shtola appreciated the night in more ways than one, as the dark-aspected aether helped to make her surroundings more muted. It was a welcome change to how bright her aethersight could be during daytime hours, even without the Light clouded sky.

Truly, it was hard for Y’shtola not to notice whenever the Warrior of Darkness arrived in her presence, especially against the backdrop of soothing darkness. Her aethersight rendered the day a tolerably blinding bright, but the Warrior of Darkness burned as if they were a star themselves, somehow dropped from the heavens’ and mingling amongst mortals. Y’shtola thought to look toward them too long would render her _truly_ blind. It was troubling. It worried her.

Y’shtola furrowed her brows as she was forced to look away. Such a radiant flame would quickly burn through its wick.


	18. Panglossian (Zhloe, T'kebbe)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> characterized by or given to extreme optimism, especially in the face of unrelieved hardship or adversity.

Zhloe jingled the sack of gil in her hand with a grin on her face. Finally, after months of loan repayment and saving money away to buy the children proper beddings, clothing, and ensuring they had at least two square meals a day, she finally had enough money left over to buy a fresh pineapple pudding instead of the expired leftovers from the clearance shelf of the local culinarian! Zhloe could almost taste it in her mouth already. The smooth tartness of the pudding as it lingered on her tongue, slowly seeping to all corners of-

“Miss Zhloe!” a shriek cried out from the basement of _The Hard Place,_ small footsteps stamping up the stairs. T’kebbe’s small head popped up from the landing, ears drooping downward and her face full of panic.

“Something _exploded_ downstairs and now there’s water everywhere!”

“What?! Oh, no!” Zhloe stumbled out from behind the counter and raced to follow T’kebbe downstairs. She found a scene where some children of the orphanage who had decided to play indoors were standing on top of furniture, hugging each other for dear life as water flooded in around them, and steadily rising. With T’kebbe’s help, they both managed to coax and lift the children to the safety of the stairs. After ensuring everyone was safe (if rattled), Zhloe fleed to trusty Geimlona to beg her assistance.

***********************

Zhloe sighed to herself after looking over the final tally for repairs. There would be no fresh pineapple pudding today. Or even for another while, yet.

T’kebbe looked up at Zhloe with bright, misty eyes. “I’m sorry Miss Zhloe. I know you were really looking forward to that pineapple pudding.”

Zhloe put on a big smile just for T’kebbe and patted her head. “It’s not your fault, T’kebbe, and nothing you need to cry over! If we just do _exactly_ what we did to get out of the first hole of debt, I’ll be chowing down on pineapple pudding in no time!”


	19. Where the Heart is (Alisaie)

“Here you go, Mistress Alisaie. Apologies for taking you away from the party.”

Alisaie simply stared at the object held out in Riol’s hand. The revelry and music from her friends amongst the Scions suddenly became muted and distant, as if all the air had been sucked out of the _Rising Stones_. She felt her soul descend to the bottom of her gut.

“… Mistress Alisaie?”

“Ah,” Alisaie half-heartedly glanced back up at Riol, then back down at his outstretched hand. The sounds of the party slowly came back into focus. Alisaie absent-mindedly noted that Thancred had moved on to belting out one of F’lhaminn’s more popular songs as everyone clapped to the rhythm in encouragement. She knew that she was being awkward with Riol by not taking what was laid in his hand, but this was one of the very, _very_ few cases where Alisaie froze up with doubt.

In his hand was a simple letter, with all-too familiar script, addressed to ‘ _Alphinaud and Alisaie’._

Riol seemed to sense the conflicting emotions radiating from Alisaie’s face as she unmovingly stared at the letter. “If you’d prefer, I can go deliver this to Master Alphinaud. You go back and enjoy the party,” He said and smiled, beginning to retract his arm.

That seemed to snap Alisaie out of her stupor, and her own arm darted forward to unceremoniously grab the letter. “I’ll take it, thank you Riol,” she hurriedly blurted out and stormed off to a dark side of the room, away from the others. Riol blinked once at the sudden change, shrugged, and went to get a drink from the bar for the road. And perhaps a story or two.

Alisaie stood still as her head craned down at the now-slightly-crumpled letter in her hands, the sounds of the party enveloping and rushing around her like a warm waterfall above her head. ‘ _How can just his_ handwriting _fill me with such dread,”_ she wondered to herself, frowning as the pit in her stomach sunk deeper. She looked back up at the party and watched all of the Scions- all of her _friends-_ as they laughed and caroused, drinking, eating, commiserating on all their hardships and triumphs during the time in the First and over events that occurred in the meantime on the Source. A celebration of the life they shared.

A bitter, unwelcome thought arose in Alisaie’s mind, but she allowed it to surface. “ _I can’t remember the last time I thought of Sharlayan.”_

Alisaie grimaced as she tried her best to smooth out the crumpled parts of the envelope. She turned and made her way down the dim hallway to their quarters to place the letter amongst Alphinaud’s belongings. He could deal with it on the morrow.


	20. Alimentation (G'raha Tia/WoL)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nourishment; nutrition.

The fronds of the coconut trees swayed high in the sky as a light breeze passed through Raincatcher Gully. Even with the breeze, however, it was a hot and humid day to spend time in La Noscea’s tropical climes. Tataru had taken a job from the culinarians of Mor Dhona to collect elusively rare Dzemael tomatoes, and G’raha, along with the Warrior of Light, had volunteered to help. The sun unceasingly beat down through the boughs of the treetops in a clear blue sky unblemished by clouds, but Tataru had fashioned them all sunhats to better bear it. Nothing much could be done about the heavy and misty air that surrounded them, however.

G’raha’s ears twitched incessantly as they reflexively tried to ward off mosquitoes and gnats buzzing around his head. His hand shot up to slap at his neck as he felt something sting, but it turned out to be a branch of the bush he was head-first inside, scraping against his skin. He sighed through his nose and gathered the scant plump tomatoes into his basket. He stood up from his crouched position and leaned back to stretch, with his hands on the small of his back and tail flexing upward. He then squinted through the sunlight and trees to try and find the others. He wasn’t having much luck with tomatoes here, and it had been a while since the three of them had split up. He then rolled his shoulders and decided to go check the last place he saw the Warrior of Light, at the nearby waterfall.

He pushed his way past overgrown leaves and vines, twining his way among thick tree trunks and foliage heavy with the scent of tropical flowers. Birdsong twittered all around him as the sound of the waterfall gradually came into his hearing, growing louder as he drew closer. He finally emerged from the tree-line into the clearing surrounding the waterfall and river that flowed from it, the clear freshwater splashing down from the rocks above, with a small rainbow formed at the foot and sparkling through the mist.

G’raha spied the Warrior above him, on a small earth-formed bridge the spanned over the beginning of the small river. They were deep in concentration on the bush before them, using their scythe to cut away the interfering vines and weeds to reveal to tomatoes within. The sun shone directly on them, almost like a spotlight. They had removed their outerwear light jacket and tied it around their waist, revealing their black undershirt beneath. Their sweat glistened on their skin in the sunlight, tracing down over their neck and collarbone, contouring their flexing biceps. G’raha stared, transfixed, at their torso turning as they cut, as rhythmic as a dance. One brow creased on their heated face, a focused frown turned on their lips, and their eyes intent and true on their target.

Thus, Tataru found him in such a state and gave him a humble greeting, but his mind was malms away and he did not immediately respond.

“G’raha, whatever are you staring at?” Tataru curiously pondered as she followed his line of sight.

“Ingredients…” G’raha mumbled thoughtlessly the first word that came to his blank mind, and Tataru shot a look back at him, puzzled.

“Pardon?”

“Uhh!” G’raha finally snapped back to his senses, looking around in a panic with his ears and tail shot straight up, and finally noticing Tataru in his presence. He wrung his hands as he looked to the side, ears dropping almost to the floor if they could, as he tried to come up with an excuse for his ogling. “Ingredients… the tomatoes! I was looking for more tomatoes! Better get back to it, aha!”

He sheepishly scratched the back of his neck and put on a wide, but pained smile, giving Tataru a small wave, and then immediately turned tail and fled back into the trees. Tataru could only blink a few times at his passing, but then a slow smirk spread on her own face as she crossed her arms and squinted between the Warrior of Light and where G’raha had run away.

She looked down at the basket of tomatoes G’raha had left behind in his haste to flee. “Well,” she giggled to herself as she hefted it up, “I’d better have our _dear friend_ return this precious basket, since I am much to busy to do it myself.” Her giggling bubbled over as she skipped her way up to the Warrior of Light.


	21. Foible (Halmarut, Lahabrea)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a minor weakness or failing of character; slight flaw or defect.

“Lahabrea!”

Halmarut’s sing-song voice rang out throughout the tall ceilings of Lahabrea’s office rooms, as they wandered around his various statues of concepts born from phantamology. They cupped a hand to their mouth and called out again, piercing through the dim haze that seemed to perpetually settle around this ward of Akademia Anyder.

“Oh, Lahabrea! Where aaare you?”

Finally, as Halmarut drew closer to the depths of the office, they could hear the distant tinkling of test tubes and the whirring buzz of operating machinery. They grinned to themselves and headed their way towards the source of the sound. After going down a long hallway lined with even more statues of concepts, Halmarut finally turned a corner and came upon Lahabrea as he stooped over a worktable, measuring out some sort of blue liquid next to some sort of bulky, intimidating machine, that was connected to all sort of wires running down the floor of the room and leading to the dark recesses further inside. It was all a bit beyond Halmarut’s understanding, but it was a different field of knowledge outside their expertise, and Halmarut was perfectly happy to leave phantamology to Lahabrea.

Halmarut walked up to his desk with a smile on their face and waving a hand in welcome. “Lahabrea, hi! Is this a bad time?”

Lahabrea, his posture still as a statue, slowly put down the flask in his hands. He then wearily raised his head and eyes toward Halmarut, a severe frown cutting deep across his lips.

“Halmarut. You should have rung my intercom.”

“I did! You didn’t answer.”

“And yet you came in anyway,” Lahabrea groaned out a sigh and raised his arms in defeat, then flopped back onto the plush chair behind him.

Halmarut put a hand on their hip and waved away his accusation, shaking their head. “If you were _really_ busy, you would have locked the door.”

He gripped both armrests in irritation when Halmarut then jumped up to sit on the edge of his desk across from him instead of using the usual guest chair. Halmarut leaned in before he could utter his rebuttal and said, “So anyway, I was wondering if you’ve read over my proposal? I wanted to go over it with you before the next meeting.” Their grin stretching wider.

“I have not,” Lahabrea flatly dismissed them. “You need to schedule these meetings with me. Or meet me during open office hours, just like everyone else.” He added through gritted teeth, “As I have discussed with you many times.”

Halmarut gave an airy sigh as they looked away and hopped back off the desk. “Oh, I suppose. My deepest apologies.” They idly stuck a hand into their pocket and produced a concept crystal that they floated around their hand, twirling it between their fingers, as they slowly wandered back toward the hallway and away from Lahabrea’s desk.

“I _also_ had this collaboration idea I wanted to share with you, possibly combining my new Morbol with one of your Pegasi, but, well,” they snatched the crystal back into their palm and returned it to their pocket, then brought their hands behind their back and turned their head to the far ceiling. “You’re right, you’re right, I should schedule this talk for a later date. You are a very busy man, after all,” they mused thoughtfully.

Halmarut reached the hallway and was ready to turn on the corner again when Lahabrea finally uttered the word they were waiting to hear.

“Wait.”

They hid a grin. He was just too easy.

They turned around and nonchalantly hurried back into the room. Lahabrea was leaning forward with his fingers steepled and arms resting on his desk, his exasperated frown turned into one deep in thought.

“Your Morbol combined with Pegasus? How intriguing. Do explain.”

“Yes, yes, we’ll get to that momentarily, Most Esteemed Lahabrea,” Halmarut said as they made themselves comfortable in the guest chair. They scooted and leaned forward, earnest. “Now, about that proposal I sent you…”


	22. Argy-bargy (Azem, Halmarut, Elidibus)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a vigorous discussion or dispute.

Azem slammed their hands down onto the pulpit in frustration, causing the air to evaporate out of the meeting hall and hushing everyone immediately. “Enough, Halmarut!”, they bared their teeth, “I _refuse_ to play your games!”

Azem stood hunched over the pulpit at the center, having the floor as the Convocation seats surrounded them in a circle. They rose from their position to point a finger at Halmarut, who otherwise stared impassively back with arms crossed.

“I will repeat the accusations I have made plain and _pray_ ask you to return the courtesy in kind. _You_ created an overabundance of your latest _carnivorous foliage,_ and instead of disposing of them properly, you dumped them into a habitat that absolutely _could not_ support the introduction of such a predator species.”

Azem slowly lowered the finger to ball their hands into fists at their side, and stead-fastedly continued. “The ecosystem of the area is in shambles and the people who live there have all but scattered. I simply ask you to take responsibility.”

At this, Halmarut finally made a movement by leaning slightly forward in their seat. “What is the meaning of this outburst, Azem?” they hissed through their teeth. “I was the one who initially _told_ you of the situation and asked for your assistance.”

“And it should not have come to that!”, Azem snapped as they swiped an arm in front of them. “Calling on me to _exterminate_ your mistake does _not_ fix the lives that were-!”

“Know your place, Azem!” Halmarut rose from their seat to their full height and pointed an accusatory finger of their own. “I would not presume the _Manager of the Aetherytes_ to have full knowledge of phytobiology and the Words that _I_ bear. You would lay _your_ ignorance at _my_ feet, before the whole Convocation?” An incredulous smirk gripped their lips. 

“Enough,” intoned Elidibus, and Azem’s next words died in their throat. He made a soothing motion with his hands directed at Azem and Halmarut. “Both parties have stepped out of line with these outbursts,” he said softly. Halmarut slowly lowered themselves back down into their seat with a grimace while Elidibus turned to address Azem directly.

“However, these are not the proper channels to raise grievances with fellow Convocation members,” Gently, he continued, “As Article 10,259, Section 19,402 states-“

Azem folded their arms and interrupted, “If I went through the ‘proper channels’ it would be months before this was addressed, and by that point, the damage would be out of plain sight and long forgotten.” Their stomach sank knowing that interrupting Elidibus was a bad idea, but they were unable to stop themselves.

Elidibus folded his hands and let the interruption hang in the air. Azem glanced over to see Halmarut with a satisfied smile.

Elidibus continued, slower and more deliberate this time, “Azem, these rules are in place for a reason. Our debates and discussion must be properly structured, and every voice given their due, or our meetings will only descend into unproductive chaos.”

_‘Well, that’s it then,’_ Azem sighed inwardly. _‘So nothing will be done.’_ Azem reluctantly unfolded their arms and stuck them back to their sides.

“I apologize for my rudeness,” they quietly, but clearly, replied, and bowed low to the ground. “I relieve my time.”

*************************

“Um, excuse me, Azem?”

Azem startled and looked up from their doorway to their office. They were completely lost in their muddled thoughts after the meeting adjourned, that they did not notice the person standing by their door.

_‘A student of Anyder, by the looks of it,’_ Azem mused, and they put on a tired smile. “Forgive me, my mind was elsewhere. How may I help you?”

He nervously wrung the front of his robes. “I just wanted to tell you something… um, off the record?”

Azem put out a welcoming arm to beckon them to continue, smiling all the while. “Speak freely. I believe I have a reputation among you fellows to keep a secret, if I am not mistaken.”

He hurriedly looked around. “We won’t be overheard out in the hallway?”

“Hardly anyone comes by this wing. But if you would prefer, we can talk in my office.” Azem looked back and pointed a thumb at the door.

“But…” he looked aghast and continued to wring the front of his robes. “These aren’t your open office hours.”

Azem snorted and gave him a look that said _‘Really?’_ and turned to let them both through, but the student hurriedly waved his hands in front of himself to refuse.

“No, no, I couldn’t, I don’t want to take up too much of your time. I just wanted to say,” he inhaled a deep breath to calm himself before continuing, “ _Thank you._ For bringing up that… matter with Halmarut. Before the Convocation. I am a student and researcher in their office, and there were many of us who had our own misgivings about that whole situation. But, we were,” he looked off to the side and muttered, “overruled. As usual.”

“Anyway,” he looked back at Azem with a small smile on his face as he smoothed down his wrinkled robe. “That’s all I wanted to say. Thanks.”

A pleased smile grew on Azem’s face and they gave a small nod. “There is no need for thanks, but it is appreciated. If you have any troubles in the future you would like to consult with me, feel free to seek me out,” they gave a small shrug, “research-related or otherwise. I don’t mind.”

The student’s face brightened as his eyes gleamed. “That is very gracious! Thank you, once again.” His smile turned thoughtful and he cocked his head. “You know, when I originally applied to Akademia Anyder, I had your department as a backup in case I was not accepted into the Words of Halmarut.”

His grateful smile stretched even wider as he clasped his hands. “I am glad to know that possible-me would have had such a kind mentor as Glorious Azem!”

Azem’s smile twitched as it slowly grew forced. “You do me a kindness,” they gave a slow nod. “Thank you.”

Azem waved the student goodbye as he said his farewells, and watched as he walked down the hallway, a weight seemingly lifted from his shoulders. At the end of the hall, he suddenly turned back around toward Azem and cupped a hand to his mouth.

“Azem!” He called out, “Have a safe journey!”

Then he turned back down the hall and disappeared around the corner.

Azem was stunned for a moment, unable to process the parting message. They wearily shook their head and groaned, shouldering their way into their door, and took in the perpetual state of the chaotic mess that their office occupied. 

They could not wait to get out of here.


	23. Shuffle (Cid/Nero)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to jumble together, mix, or interchange the positions of (objects).

Nero peered over Cid’s shoulder at his magitek project on the workbench. They were both working late into the night on their own respective projects in the student laboratory, as usual. His observation of Cid’s work went unnoticed, as the latter was fully devoted to tinkering on whatever he was working on.

Nero’s lips grew into a grin as he spied the dirty cart behind Cid, scattered with various tools spilling out of his toolbox and other bits and bobs. He quickly, yet silently, moved things around on his cart, knowing how ornery Cid could get about his organized chaos, and knowing he would be too focused to notice everything had been moved. He also spied one lone small hex screwdriver that Cid would probably need to use tonight and stole it away.

He unassumingly made his way back to his own seat and bench to continue working on his project. He kept flitting his eyes up toward Cid all the while, awaiting the moment Cid would start being annoyed that things were not in their usual place and for his eventual scrambling around for his screwdriver.

It was the little things such as this that brought Nero joy.


	24. Beam (Aymeric)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a ray of light.

Aymeric held the paper close to his face and studied the written instructions created by the Warrior of Light one more time. He had placed the extra mulch in the basket as the Warrior instructed. He felt the soil with the back of his hand. It felt damp, so he must have watered it the right amount.

_‘But is it damp_ enough? _’_ , Aymeric puzzled to himself as he tapped his chin. He picked up his water cup and added a few more drops of water to the flowers, just in case. He then consulted his list again. The next set of instructions stated the flowers needed plenty of sunlight. And as luck would have it, the springtime sky over Ishgard had decided to grace his office windowsill with a ray of sunshine that broke through the clouds above. He smiled in delight as he carefully picked up the basket of deep blue campanulas from his desk, and gingerly placed it in the windowsill, turning it around a few times and fussing over it to ensure the flowers received the full amount of sunshine. Looking over his list yet again, he fussed with the flowers, even more, to make sure there was nothing like mildew or discoloration. Just as the Warrior of Light wrote to be on the look out for.

It was quite a nice gift that the Warrior gave to them. Aymeric had off-handedly commented one time that he was stuck in his bleak and dreary office, and the next time they had paid a visit, they had brought him a basket of campanulas and their own self-written instructions for their care. Aymeric felt touched that the Warrior of Light had even paid attention and remembered these little things, on top of everything they had done already for him and Ishgard. And it was a lasting gift at that, one that the Warrior of Light wanted Aymeric to nurture and grow in their absence. He was determined not to let them down.

Aymeric sighed with contentment as he gazed at his sun-soaked flowers, stroking a petal with a feather-light touch.


	25. Wish (Lahabrea, Emet-Selch, Elidibus)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to desire (a person or thing) to be (as specified).
> 
> content warning: mental invasion, warzone description, blood, emesis

Three shadowless specters cut through a smoldering battlefield, littered with corpses of fallen soldiers and tattered banners blowing in the wind. The setting sun blazed the blood-soaked mud and fields as if they were lit aglow, and yet their boots and robes remained undirtied as they passed broken bones and lifeless eyes. Their destination was the crudely built stone fort ahead, rendered empty save for what malformed husks were left behind and feasted on by carrion crows. Their destination inside their destination was one nondescript storeroom, unadorned and unremarkable. They paused outside the wooden door, finally taking a moment to look amongst themselves as if only realizing now that their search was over.

Emet-Selch was the first to break the silence. “This is the place,” he murmured, motioning to no one in particular. “After you.”

Elidibus nodded and turned to open the door, while Emet-Selch took this moment with his back turned to quietly depart. Until his arm was firmly grasped by Lahabrea. He bared his teeth and hissed, “Running away again?”

Emet-Selch shook off Lahabrea’s claw-like grip from his person with a grunt and continued as if he was truly going to walk away, yet he stopped. He slouched forward with a groan at the back of his throat, dragged a hand over his face, and turned back around to see Lahabrea glaring at him and Elidibus simply staring, his hand placed on the door, yet unmoving. With Lahabrea fuming and muttering unintelligibly under his breath, Emet-Selch shoved past both and slammed the wooden door open so hard it almost fell off its hinges.

The room was darkened with shadows, only lit by one small window to the side that shone a sunbeam onto the floor and illuminated nearby boxes and armaments. Particles of dust disturbed by the gushing wind of the slammed door danced in the beam of light. A foot stirred in that beam as the three filed into the small room, their dark presences seemingly too large to stay inside such a place and threatening to drown out the weak sunbeam. The foot belonged to a man sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall. His dark hair was matted, and his large leporine ears were cut and broken. His plain chain armor was stained in red and he clutched his stomach as if its contents were liable to spill at any moment. His eyes widened as he took in the three, and he feebly tried to move his feet as if to crawl to an impossible escape. For his efforts, he hissed in pain as he clutched harder at his stomach. Lahabrea sighed through his nose as he clasped his hands behind his back, glancing at his two compatriots to see who would be the first to speak. He could see Emet-Selch frozen as a prey animal would be as they calculated fight or flight. Elidibus, on the other hand, was frozen as an outsider in want of guidance. He noticed Lahabrea’s gaze on him and slowly turned his head to look toward him.

“Are you Death come for me?”, the man on the ground finally gurgled out, blood dripping from his lips, and tears forming in his silver-shined eyes. Lahabrea turned his gaze back to the bleeding man and gave another sigh. He knew that, at another time, Emet-Selch would have been amused by the poetry. But it seemed that none of the three were in the mood for explanations or empty consolation.

_‘Just as well,’_ he closed his eyes in determination. ‘ _Wasted words anyway.’_

Lahabrea’s eyes remained closed as he flicked a wrist toward the window. The skies outside suddenly darkened with storm clouds rapidly billowing and coalescing together, as if a terrible storm were sped up in time. This drew the bleeding man’s notice as he squinted to the sky outside, awed at the sight. Suddenly, large flickering comets began to rain down from the clouds, and it was as if something broke inside the man. His eyes overflowed with tears and his jaw hung agape.

That was the moment the three were waiting for. Recognition. And Emet-Selch’s cue.

He threw a small crystal blindingly fast towards the bleeding man, the object piercing through his chest as if it were shot by an arrow. Black tendrils sprung from the site and embedded into the man’s skin as if they were his own veins. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as he began to convulse, his hands moving from clutching his stomach together to clawing and grasping at his head. He fell to his side as he continued to writhe on the floor, as screaming, whimpering, and garbled begging echoed throughout the small room. 

Elidibus stirred then, with one small step forward. Then another step. He reached a faltering hand out as fulms of space still laid between him and the man on the ground. And he paused, like a marionette with an unsure puppeteer. Pity bubbled up inside Lahabrea as he moved forward to stand by Elidibus, quietly place a hand on his shoulder, and continued the both of them closer to the wailing man. They both stared unblinking as they loomed over him as he vomited bile and guts. Specters who were steadfast in their vigil. Emet-Selch joined them at some point.

The three only watched as the man's body and head twisted and turned with force almost to the point of breaking. Lucidity would break through at points and he would stare directly at one of them as tears flooded his eyes. Pleading for it all to stop. All three knew that the memories stored in the crystal were too much for one shattered soul to bear. Memories of a life long lost, and the complete death of everything they loved, would be too much for _anyone_ to bear. But this was a Convocation member. They could, _would_ overcome, and return.

Eventually, the screams died down to mere whimpering, then guttural groaning, and silence. The nails that had drawn bleeding tracks through hair and skin relaxed their grip. The broken man stilled, realigned himself, turned, and pushed up on his arms. He slowly brought his head upward. Unblinking dead eyes lined with red and tracks of blood scored his face. Shattered mirror eyes turned toward the three.

“I… am dead?”, he murmured. His brows slightly creased as he stared blankly into space, unending thoughts and questions racing through his mind. “I know you?”

Lahabrea hunched over the man, slightly tilted his head forward, and raised his arms to proclaim,

“Nabriales. Be welcome.”

Nabriales snapped his eyes toward Lahabrea and gave a small, slow nod. “I know you.”

Emet-Selch finally gave a small smile. A smile that could slice through flesh. He reached his hand toward Nabriales and drew the crystal back from Nabriales’ chest, tendrils swirling as it removed itself and landed back in Emet-Selch's palm. Nabriales cast his eyes down and thoughtfully touched the spot where he was pierced.

"I am still me,” Nabriales softly whispered.

Whether a question or a statement, no one responded.

“You will want to occupy another shell,” Elidibus finally intoned, as he pointed to one of the other corpses in the room. “The one you currently occupy will give in to its fatal wounds soon, and it is better to leave all old trappings behind.”

Nabriales closed his eyes with a final nod as his old body fell to the floor.


	26. When Pigs Fly (Cyella, Giott)

“Damnit, Giott!” Cyella growled as she slammed her hand over Giott’s tankard, forcing it back down onto the table from Giott's lips. “Your tab is two months overdue! Are you going to pay up, or do I hand you a mop and pail to work it off?”

Drunken rage bubbled up on Giott’s reddened face as she stood up on her stool to point an accusatory finger at Cyella. She bellowed, “Pay these prices for this watered _piss_ you call ale?! I’ll pay when-!”

Just then, a flying familiar zoomed by trying to catch up with its Nu Mou master and collided with Giott’s head, knocking her sideways off the stool, bouncing once until she ultimately faceplanted onto the floor. Giott groaned in pain as Cyella calmly walked around the bar to stand over her with a frown permanently on her face, eventually crossing her arms and tapping her foot.

“Just… just giv’ me a min’…” Giott mumbled against the floor as she rummaged what little gil she had in her pockets.


	27. Illation (Ardbert)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an inference; conclusion.
> 
> content warning: blood, death

Ardbert clutched onto his last friend as they shuddered their death rattle, blood staining their fronts and dripping down in rivulets. He helped to ease them down onto the ground and gently laid their head in his lap, staring into lifeless glassy eyes. He stayed there for some time, his only movement the trembling strokes of their hair. Finally, ever so carefully, he raised his own blood-stained axe’s blade against his neck.

This had to work. _It must._


	28. Irenic (Ran'jit, Minfilia)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tending to promote peace or reconciliation; peaceful or conciliatory.
> 
> content warning: death

Ran’jit had stopped conversing with Minfilia. There was not much to say as the days ever crawled to their end. He would still visit her window-less stone cell from time to time, to observe as she occupied herself with reading or embroidery. To ensure nothing was amiss and that her room was still secure. Sometimes he would hand her a new book he had found discarded by some flighty Eulmoreans, but even those instances had become few and far between. She would still receive them between her bars without a word.

He felt that they didn’t need to talk, however. Being in her presence and with the knowledge that she was safe was all he needed. It brought him comfort at the end of the world. And of course, he hoped that it brought her some relief, as well. An opportunity to hang up her burdens like a well-worn coat. To loosen the noose.

Sometimes, she would turn her ethereal blue eyes on him, illuminated by the glow of candlelight. He would be struck with the image of her corpse lying broken in his arms. Her cell would blink into a light-soaked battlefield littered with so many Minifilias. Some he knew for years. Some he knew for only days. All broken, in the end.

He would have to depart Minifla’s room once these memories awoke.

And he was starting to notice she would turn her gaze onto him more often.


	29. Paternal (Fortemps Fam)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> characteristic of or befitting a father; fatherly.

Emmanellain shivered and chattered his teeth as he leaned in closer to his brother, Artoirel, for warmth. “C-can someone r-remind me why we’re _ice-fishing_ in the dead of winter?! The Sea of Clouds is r-right there,” he exclaimed as he gestured wildly toward the northern Lancegate, from their position seated above the solid ice of Banepool.

Artoirel shoved his brother off his arm with a glare. “Would you please shush up for once”, he muttered with a low voice. “And stop stamping your feet. You are going to scare away all the fish and ruin Father’s fishing trip.” He ended his deadpan statement and returned to staring intently at his fishing line, lowered into a hole they had carved in the ice.

Emmanellain scrunched up his face with the beginning of a retort, but stopped himself as if thinking better of it. Instead, he continued to pout and sunk deeper into his winter coat in an attempt to stave off the cold, the shaking of his legs moving to his arms and fishing line.

Count Edmont chuckled as he watched his two sons harmlessly squabble. He set his fishing line down on the ice as he reached for his cane to help him stand from the crate doubling as a chair. He smiled while heading to their resting chocobos for their supply packs, and said, “Why don’t we start a fire and have something warm to drink? I’ve brought along some hot chocolate.”

Emmanellain jumped up in glee, and even Artoirel broke out into a smile.


	30. Splinter (Azem/Emet-Selch)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a small, thin, sharp piece of wood, bone, or the like, split or broken off from the main body.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading any part of this. I hope you enjoyed some of the stories. I'd like to thank my friend Kirby for helping me out during those times when I was completely stuck <3 
> 
> I'm glad I was able to complete this project and attain my goal of writing something every single day.   
> If you'd like to contact me, my twitter is @mstarifu. I'd like to make more FFXIV friends! :)
> 
> Again, thank you.

“Wait!” Emet-Selch cried out as he ran down the gently lit hall. His voice echoed throughout, punctuated by his heavy footfalls as he sprinted down the obsidian marble corridor. He was sure his flagrant breach of decorum would have turned heads, but by the grace of fate, the halls were empty, save for his destination.

Azem, who was flanked by two of Lahabrea’s animated suits of armor, paused in their walking and slowly half-turned toward the call, maintaining their cloaked face hidden under their hood. They waited for Emet-Selch to arrive, and the suits of armor swung their blades down to prevent Emet-Selch from getting closer. He halted at the abrupt swiftness of the suits and stepped back a few paces. Azem let silence envelop them as Emet-Selch caught his breath and seemingly searched for words. Finally, they decided to break the silence first.

“Our Most Eminent Emet-Selch,” they murmured low, their acerbic voice as corrosive as dripping acid. “To what do I owe the honor?”

Emet-Selch rose from his hunched position and opened his mouth, starting to speak, but his voice faltered as his eyes searched over Azem.

“You know you do not need to use titles when we are alone,” he softly implored.

Azem tilted their head up towards one of the suits of armor. “Are we?”

Emet-Selch followed their gaze, taking in their meaning. He closed his eyes to take a deep breath through his nose, then opened them towards Azem and continued speaking.

“It’s not too late,” he spoke steadily and carefully. He motioned behind them both, “You can still go back and apologize. Put this all behind us.”

Azem continued to stare at the suit of armor. They were as unmoving and silent as the suits. Emet-Sech took this as admittance to continue, his eyes behind his mask gleaming with the faintest hope.

“Tensions as high as they are, momentary lapses in judgment are to be expected. We all understand.”

At last, Azem gave a scoff of a laugh and slightly shrugged their tired shoulders. “That’s what you think this is.”

They brought their head down to stare at the floor instead. They continued in a low and measured voice, “You of all people know my rhetoric, compared to the others of the Convocation, is poor. And yet I practiced with you, debated with you, put mine all into this _thing_ I hate most. At the end of my labors, I truly believed I had gotten through to you. And through you, everyone else would understand.”

They clenched their hands into fists and finally looked up at Emet-Selch, their grimace accusatory. “But the decision was unanimous.”

Emet-Selch took a step forward, his voice taking an incredulous tone. “Azem, you can’t expect me to favor-“

“Save it, Emet-Selch!” they raised their voice into a hiss, swiping their arm forward to cut him off. “I don’t want to hear it.”

They let their head fall back down toward the floor, silence enveloping the two again. Emet-Selch did not want it to end like this, but he was at a loss for words. He took a step back and lowered his head to stare at his feet as well, his thoughts racing on what to say to keep Azem from leaving.

“But, you’re right. It’s not too late.”

He sharply raised his head to see Azem staring him down. They slowly extended their arm towards him, palm up, and continued, “You could join me.”

Emet-Selch choked on his spit, his eyes behind the mask growing wide. “You want me to simply abandon the Convocation? Our people?”

“Inasmuch as they are abandoning the rest of the world, locked away as they are,” Azem stared past him down the corridor towards the Forum, then flickered their gaze back toward Emet-Selch. A small smile grew on Azem’s face, but to Emet-Selch, it looked wrong. Their warm smile was akin to sputtering embers desperately trying to stay alive.

“Come with me. We will go help the other cities, collate their knowledge, and stop this disaster at the source. It is the most logical thing to do.”

Azem’s eyes lit up as they listed their fervent plea. Emet-Selch continued to stare at them once they were finished. His mouth had gone dry. He felt like he was going to be sick.

He moved his gaze to their outstretched hand and slowly, ever so slowly, raised his own.

He faltered.

He turned his own palm up.

“The crystal,” he croaked.

“What?”

“The crystal of the Fourteenth Seat,” he elaborated with a shuddering voice, his eyes fixed on his own hand. He could not bear to look into Azem’s eyes, to unwittingly see their soul twist in turmoil as he betrayed them once again. “If I could not convince you to return, I was tasked to retrieve the crystal.”

Yet, Azem kept their hand raised, their palm remaining open and beckoning. They were not sure if it was out of desperation or shock. Their smile turned into a broken smirk. “You’re not going to even rebuke me?”

Emet-Selch kept his eyes on his hand as a point to concentrate the turmoil of his heart, and said, flatly, “It is clear that you have made up your mind.”

Azem’s arm fell as they breathed out the sigh they were holding. As the time and air in the two’s little bubble seemed to return. As the thorn was finally ripped from the skin.

“As you command, Emet-Selch.”

They placed a hand over their chest and summoned the amber crystal forth, and floated it forward, relinquishing it to Emet-Selch’s palm. Before it had even reached their destination, they were already turning to leave.

Emet-Selch grasped the crystal and finally looked up to see Azem’s back turned. Suddenly, his despair burst forth and he took a step forward, just toeing the divide that grew exponentially between them as Azem walked away.

“I will see you again. Won’t I?” He begged as he called after them, desperation writ plain on his face that his mask could not hide. That he would not hide.

‘ _It can’t end like this.’_

Azem’s step faltered as they walked, their head once again slightly turning toward the voice so filled with anguish. But this time, they did not turn back.

**************************************

_Hades,_

_My one regret in life was being too much of a coward to give you my final goodbye._

_And thus, I shall inscribe it here, with the hope that one day, in another time, in another life,_

_your soul may chance upon it, and I will be at peace._

_Farewell._

_Take care._

_Love,_


End file.
